


Ostara

by CuriousxCrowley



Series: Wheel of the Year [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: witch!Sam, witch!Sam au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 01:50:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6309583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousxCrowley/pseuds/CuriousxCrowley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 1 of my Wheel of the Year Series<br/>A glimpse at the first Ostara Sam observes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ostara

**Author's Note:**

> 3/20 is actually Ostara, Happy Spring y'all!  
> After reading some lovely head canons on tumblr I fell in love with the witch!Sam AU.   
> As a wiccan I have some grumpy feelings at the way 99% of witches are portrayed on the show.

3/20/1996 – Ostara

Sam plays sick. It helps that he’s actually got a minor cold, it also helps that he never tries to stay home. Dean asks him one last time if he’s sure he doesn’t need him to stay home. He bats away his brother’s hand from his brow and tells him no. Twenty minutes later he sneaks out through the bathroom window, duffle thrown over his shoulder. Once on the other side he shivers a little at the cool spring morning and pulls his hood up.

The wood is thick and eventually deposits into a stream. The first few yards are littered with used condoms and needles, Sam screws up his nose and carefully side steps them. About a hundred yards into the wood the trees grow thicker and he can no longer hear the sounds from the road. Just a little further and he’s in a clearing that he and Dean had found a few days earlier. There’s few rocks littered throughout (he knows because there’s a bruise in his shoulder from sparring) but he beelines for the other side of the clearing. The rock here isn’t large, just long and set flush into the ground.

He works quickly because he’s not sure how long he has until Dean decides he’s bored with school. This is something Dean can’t know about because Dad certainly can’t know about.

His alter isn’t much: a white candle positioned to the north, a gold candle to the east, there’s a bronze bowl positioned in the south and he sits in the western position. He gingerly pulls ¾ of an egg shell from a Morton Salt container he’s taken the top off of and with quick work he digs some dirt free and presses it in followed by a seed. He placed that in the bronze bowl.

It takes a moment to settle himself. Ends up with his legs spread long, careful not to kick his laid out alter, and he’s leaning back on his hands.

The ground is still moist under his palms and when he inhales, slowly and measured, he can smell the grass coming to life again under him. There are a few birds sitting in the trees chirping idly. interested in what this trespasser is doing in their clearing. There’s a light breeze and it raises goosebumps on his skin but he doesn’t pull his hoodie closer. The sun is up just high enough that the tips of its rays are shinning above the trees and when he turns his head it shines past his eyelids and into him.

He can feel it, not unlike that dull thrum he always feels inside. He can feel it, imagines it, traveling down through his throat, spreading down his arms to his fingertips, spreading down through his gut and further to his toes. He imagines he’s glowing gold with the sun and he forgets the chill. Forgets everything really.

This is the first Sabbat he’s celebrated and it feels appropriate that it’s Ostara. The world is coming alive around him, growing and changing just like he has and will. It’s a beginning and a rebirth. Right now every seed and new critter has potential and hope. Everything is pure again after the snow.

He fights backs the age old black (impure) feeling in his gut, imagines the sun bleaching it out and cleansing him.

He feels it for a second, clean and whole, like he has all the same potential his seed has.

With that he sits up, his connection to the Earth strung taught like a thread about to give way. He focuses on the feel of the dirt moving beneath his fingers as he digs a new and deeper hole. Once its big enough he deposits his eggshell inside and recovers it.

Taking one last look at his alter he stands and the thread snaps. He feels lighter though, his minder clearer and he’s happier than he’s been in weeks.

This path isn't about power or magic, it’s about knowledge and growth.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm hoping this makes sense, I tried to proof read.  
> My youngest is in the hospital with the flu and I wrote this after she fell asleep.


End file.
